We'll Give The World To You
by still-recruiting-deactivated
Summary: Some unconnected one-shots. All are canon-compliant; updates will be periodic, whenever I need a break from whatever I'm working on atm. I'm deamus, hinny, and romione trash. You have been warned. Partially inspired by the one-shot queen, oh help.
1. 33 Percent

It's pouring rain outside, and now Hermione is dripping wet. She wonders briefly if the world just has a shitty sense of humour or if rainstorms just always happen to happen during drama, but Ron is gone and she has no clue what to do. Ron is gone, she thinks, and she can't believe it anymore than she can believe that Harry is a chihuahua.

It's pouring rain outside, and Ron sort of regrets that he left the tent behind. He's still seething, but he's seething while thinking to himself that he should have grabbed his jacket before he left. Then it all hits him, and he regrets more than the tent. He left Harry, Harry who has been his best friend since they met on that train, Harry who has stuck with Ron even though Ron has not always stuck with Harry. Maybe this is Ron's eternal punishment, to be second best, because even though he's left Harry behind now, he knows it makes him a worse friend to have done so.

It's pouring rain outside, and Hermione screams in frustration at a tree, then spins on her heel to try screaming in the other direction, but it is too late and Ron is gone.

It's pouring rain outside, and Ron regrets everything he said, and most of all that he left. He left Hermione, whom he's never been fair to. He hates himself.

It's pouring rain outside, and Hermione is lying in her bed. Harry is still fuming in the other bed, but all she can feel is hurt. Hurt that Ron would choose to leave them after six years and who knew how many near-death experiences and the start of a war, hurt that Harry would drive Ron away, hurt that she hadn't been enough to stop either of them.

It's pouring rain outside, and Ron is soaked to the bone. Hating himself won't do any good, and he knows already that it's true that he's the worst friend that Harry's ever had, and there's not too much to be gained from thinking it over and over. He sits on a fallen tree and tries to think of what to do next. He can go back, apologise, trust in Harry's goodness to be let back in, but he doesn't know if Harry can forgive him for running out. He can't forgive himself, after all.

It's stopped raining, and Hermione and Harry are silent. She can't stop the tears now, as they pack up the tent and Apparate away. They're hidden the whole time, and she can't help herself thinking that now Ron has left them and they have left him. She wonders if Ron feels left behind all the time, and she suspects so.

It's stopped raining, and Ron is sitting at Bill's kitchen table. Fleur is pretending to be busy by the sink and pretending not to listen as Ron blubbers to Bill. Bill isn't happy, Ron can see that, but Bill isn't about to hang Ron out to dry either, and he tells Ron that he can stay, but that he has to find a way to apologise to Harry. Ron doesn't argue. He's glad to be out of the rain, and he's glad that Bill is willing to take him in, and he's so sorry for what he's done that the apology could never be enough.

It's stopped raining, and Hermione sits in their tent, staring at nothing. Ron is gone, she thinks, and it's like thinking that Harry is a chihuahua, thinking that they've lost 33% of their little group.


	2. Something Cool

Seamus is flopped on the bed and Dean is flopped right next to him. Seamus, as usual, has a biscuit, and Dean, also as usual, has his sketchbook. He idly doodles an angry shark holding a hammer over a small, fat cat with a bow on its head and a cardigan labelled "Umbitch". Seamus's mouth is full of biscuit when he asks, "So what are you gonna talk about with McGonagall?"

"I dunno," said Dean. He shades in the cat's cardigan with a pink pencil, and adds, "I think it's a bit early to be deciding what I wanna do, though. We still got OWLs and NEWTs and Uni."

"Uni?" Seamus asks, scooting his whole body over by grabbing the blankets and squirming as much as he can on one side. "Hey, that's a cool shark."

"Thanks, I like it too, really. Shoulda made the teeth pointier, actually," and as he corrects this important flaw, he answers Seamus's question. "Uni is what comes after secondary school in the Muggle World. You get to choose what you learn, and learn about it in more detail."

"Oh," says Seamus. "Whoa, that's really pointy. Wizards just choose a job and go into training. Some jobs you have to apprentice for."

"I thought apprenticeships were for the eighteenth century," says Dean. "Oh, my bad, you wizards still write with feathers."

"Come off it," says Seamus, half sitting up in mock indignation. "You muggles play sports with only one ball."

"Still makes more sense then Quidditch," Dean shoots back. Then, "So what'd you wanna do?"

Seamus flops back into the pillow. It's Dean's bed, which makes that okay. If either of them flopped into Seamus's pillows, there'd be hell to pay, because Seamus's pillows are so well fluffed each morning that he'll throw a fit at any who dared un-fluff them. Dean, of course, doesn't give a shite one way or another what his pillows are like so long as he has them. Dean isn't such a ponce.

"I dunno," says Seamus, and Dean remembers he asked. "Something cool. Like a dragon wrangler or a curse breaker or a Jedi knight."

"Don't remember seeing that on the list of careers," says Dean.

"Only those gifted with the Force coulda seen it," says Seamus.

"Mm-hmm," says Dean.

"No, seriously," says Seamus. He holds two fingers under Dean's nose and wiggles them; Dean shoves his hand away and gives Seamus a decent shove to the side for good measure. Seamus does his flopping seal act again- Dean resists the urge to ask if he learned that from Ireland or if he was just a weirdo- and looks back at the drawing. A little stick figure labeled "Seamus" has a speech bubble above its head: Something cool. Dean has drawn a lightsaber and a question mark.

"Hahaha," says Seamus. "Funny, Dean. Real funny."

"Yeah?" Dean half smiles and gives Seamus a mustache.

"Oi," says Seamus, halfheartedly. He's bored, now, and too bored to be properly indignant about it. He flops back on the pillow. "At least make it look good, eh?"

"Sure," says Dean, rolling his eyes and curling the ends of the mustache up a bit. "Of course."

Something in his tone must tip Seamus off that Dean is not making him look good, and he peers over Dean's shoulder again. "Damn, Dean. You know what?"

"What?"

"I don't have to decide after all. Only weird Frog cooks wear that kind of mustache."

"You gonna be a weird Frog cook?"

"Guess I better learn French," said Seamus. "Unless you give me a beard, too."

Dean snorts and reaches one hand out to poke at Seamus's chin. "Beard? on you? Yeah, no chance."

"Hey, I'm still growing," said Seamus. He strokes his chin. "And it's there, you just can't see it."

"Too blond?"

"Nah, you don't have the Force."

"Ahh. Of course."

"Besides, who cares about the beard? Irish folk only look good with a beard if it's dark. Or red. Blond beards are just weird."

"Can't hurt. You're hideous already."

"Come off it. I'll have a beard someday. You'll see," says Seamus, shoving Dean in the side after checking that he wasn't going to destroy the picture of himself by doing so. The pencil was already lifted, but Dean sends him a dirty look anyway.

"Someday, huh?"

"Yeah," says Seamus, settling himself into the pillow and sighing loudly. "Someday. When I'm a Jedi."

"Right," says Dean. He smiles, anyway.


End file.
